Chapter 8

What to Do About Draco

July 18th

Hermione woke and felt as if a freight train had slammed into her. Her head was pounding and her entire body was aching. For an instant she panicked until she recalled that she was not scheduled to work.

Relieved, Hermione lay back down and closed her eyes, feeling shivers beginning to creep over her skin.

After half an hour or so she heard a faint knock against her door and, lifting her head slightly she mumbled a weak "come in."

Walking into the room with a worried expression, Jean Granger sat on the edge of the bed and touched Hermione's arm gently.

"Are you alright, dearest?"

Hermione nodded, "I just don't feel well."

Jean nodded, "yeah, your father's not feeling so great either. You two must have caught the same thing."

Shaking her head, Hermione allowed her eyes to drift closed once more.

"Would you like anything? Some tea perhaps?"

After a brief moment, Hermione nodded and Jean smiled. "I'll be right back."

As she heard her mother's footsteps recede into the hall and down the stairs, Hermione glanced over at her nightstand and, seeing Desiree sitting patiently amidst nine other volumes, decided that, since she wasn't going to be doing much of anything all day, that it would be a perfect opportunity to catch up on some reading.

Opening the book to the indicated spot, Hermione felt herself become instantly enraptured within the life of the French heroine.

Hundreds of words passed through her eyes and into the endless span of her thoughts, where she analyzed, connected and empathized with the characters and their feelings.

She enjoyed several moments of uninterrupted bliss before her mother came back in with her tea and gently set it on the nightstand.

Hermione muttered a thank you and smiled at the minty aroma that the brew emitted in thick strokes of visible heat.

After carefully sipping the welcome beverage, Hermione wholly invited the warmth to spread throughout her body, relaxing, easing and soothing her aching joints.

Wearing a pleased countenance, Hermione set it down before once again indulging herself within the novel awaiting her.

She did not particularly enjoy being ill but it always tended to be a cleansing, refreshing experience. All the toxins in her body were purified, and her body and mind were forced to rest.

She suspected the illness was induced by her recent stress and anxiety, the past few weeks had wrought more unease than was average for her ever-concerned mind.

After some hours, her eyes began to grow sore in their current state and she reluctantly set the novel down, a soft sigh escaping her lips. Glancing up at the midday sun glaring through her curtains, she felt a rare desire to bask within its warm glow.

Hermione typically preferred cloudy days, with a nice breeze and merely the slightest hint of sun. However, there were some days when the giant orb of light seemed to beckon to her, taunting her with its rays and luminous properties.

Tapping her fingers together, Hermione debated whether or not to venture outside. She knew that the wiser choice would be to try and sleep the day away, though her budding restlessness was nearly unbearable.

Biting her lip, she pondered for countless moments, weighing the possible outcomes and determining the best possible solution.

Deciding to at least test how she felt on her feet, Hermione pushed away the covers and instantly cringed at the chill of the room against her fevered skin. As she stood, she felt a brief wave of dizziness before her mind slowly settled and allowed for her to deduce that all seemed well.

She really only wanted to enjoy the sunshine for at least a little while. There was no harm in that right?

Grabbing a sweater from her closet she pulled it on and crossed her arms over chest to assist the spread of warmth.

As she stepped out into the hall, she heard her father's deep breathing from the next room and briefly envied his ability to simply sleep without the urges she couldn't seem to dispel.

Walking slowly down the stairs, she saw Crookshanks run across the hall in front of her and smiled to herself. Unlike most cats, Crooksie was not nocturnal. His lively time was in the middle of day. There were many ways in which her beloved pet deviated from the norm, which only served to increase her affection toward him.

The back door stuck on her first attempt at opening it but after several years Hermione had become accustomed to its stubbornness.

The fresh, outside air greeted her like the arms of heaven and, as she closed her eyes and smiled as the breeze and warmth of sunlight filled her, tranquility settled over her mind.

It was a delightful reprieve and, as her smile widened, Hermione knew that she had made the right choice. Sleep could not replace the therapy nature inherently offered.

Sitting on the porch swing, Hermione brought her legs to her chest and rested her chin atop her knees. The chirping of birds and the rustling of leaves added to the alleviating, serene effect.

Sighing, Hermione decided to lay down on the swing and, as she did so, the feeling of contentment, resembling that which she had felt at the park with Draco, began to waft over her.

Her eyes slipped close and her mouth parted slightly into a soft, delicate smile. The air rocked the swing gently, and the cool wind combined with the warmth of sunshine provided the perfect, comfortable atmosphere.

Within minutes, sleep overtook her and the worries of tomorrow awaited her return to the conscious world...

Hermione saw herself walking through a massive field, beneath an ultraviolet, starry sky.

All around her were strange creatures, dancing in intricate patterns around her. She somehow felt as if she recognized them from someplace, though the mystery of where eluded her.

A figure was approaching from across the dark meadow and, as she awaited the revelation of the visitor a strange sensation overcame her. She felt altogether afraid, warm, anxious, excited and above all delighted.

A wide grin spread across her face as she began to hasten her stride towards the individual and, as she approached, she realized that the features were covered in shadow, though she construed that he was a man.

The man offered his hand and she took it, feeling his fingers interlocking with her own.

"Who are you?" she heard herself ask.

The man seemed to become amused by her response and then whispered as softly and as indistinguishably as the wind, "I'm whoever you want me to be."

Hermione woke with a start, and, as she did so, released a low moan. Her headache had grown worse and the aches in her body had intensified. She found that the air had grown colder over the hours and that the beginnings of evening were becoming visible.

Shivering violently, Hermione rose from the swing and slowly walked inside. Glancing up at the clock she saw that her mother was not due back for another hour and so she decided to return to her room.

Biting her lip, Hermione walked into her lavatory and eyed a bottle of ibuprofen on the counter. Though the idea of relieving her symptoms was tempting, she generally preferred to allow her body to go about its work unaided.

However, she normally came out of a day's illness quickly with only faint symptoms. This time, though, she had become worse throughout the day and since she had a shift scheduled for tomorrow, it was vital that she rid herself of the sickness by then.

Reluctantly, she poured two capsules into her hand and swallowed them. Squeezing her eyes closed as she felt the uncomfortable slide of the pills down her throat.

Ever since she was a child she hated swallowing pills; it always brought on an irrational choking sensation, which would send her heart into a momentary panic. If she were to choose a worst possible death scenario, it would definitely involve being strangled.

Sighing, Hermione felt another wave of shivers, and a fresh flourish of pain in her head. She gripped the counter tighter and shook her head at her pale reflection in the mirror.

It would be a good hour or so until the ibuprofen started to work and, thinking quickly, Hermione decided that the best way to wait out the symptoms would be to take a hot bath.

Nothing was more soothing nor as therapeutic as a bath and, as the idea formulated within her mind, her aching muscles seemed to jump in anticipation of finding relief.

Walking to the tub, Hermione reached down and switched on the faucet, smiling at the welcome sound of the rushing water. She allowed it to fill as she set her clothes neatly on the counter. After adding a bit of jasmine oil to scent the water, Hermione sank into the beckoning warmth and closed her eyes in satisfaction.

She felt her joints loosen almost immediately and the chills subside rapidly. The aroma of her favorite floral scent invigorated her senses, putting her mind to ease.

As she basked within the ultimate form of relaxation, the dream she had envisioned began to return to her mind. Confused, Hermione primarily contemplated on what the man had said at the end, about being whomever she wanted.

Hermione believed that dreams were always relevant in one form or another and so, this one had to be in some way as well. The creatures that had been dancing around her she could now, in her conscious mind identify. They were the same creatures that had served the beast in the Broadway production of Beauty and the Beast. This meant, in some way, that she was tied to the character of Beauty, as the creatures had danced around her in much the same way.

Who was the man though? His touch was foreign and his voice was too soft to distinguish. The feelings she had felt upon seeing him were the most vivid aspect of the dream, but she had no idea to whom those feelings were directed. She'd never even felt anything like them before.

Placing her palm over her heart, she felt it slightly hasten at the memory, though the reaction was completely involuntary.

Furrowing her brows, Hermione decided to turn her thoughts toward something else.

Like what to do about Draco.

She had made up her mind to just see what would enfold and go from there, though the prospect was a tad too feeble for her comfort.

She figured that there would be no harm in at least forming an acquaintance with the Slytherin, especially since their paths would soon be veering off in completely different directions.

She bit her lip and again thought of the guilty expression she had seen on his face. It was a side she had never seen of him and, upon being confronted by it, she was slightly unaware as how to receive it.

She almost preferred that he had treated her as he always had, with indifference and prejudice. It was simpler, something she understood. This new face of Draco Malfoy was altogether disconcerting.

Closing her eyes, she cleared her mind of everything and simply allowed the soothing properties of her bath to revitalize her.

The hour slowly progressed and, as all light beyond her window was obliterated by the night, Hermione finally began to ease her body out of the tub.

She felt loads better, though she wasn't sure whether she owed it to the bath or to the ibuprofen. Perhaps it was both.

Wrapping a towel about her torso, Hermione grabbed her pajamas and then stepped into her room. The contrast between the warm bath and the air in her room was momentarily distressing, but her body gradually adjusted to the change.

She smoothed her favorite lotion over her skin before dressing and then running a comb through her hair.

Her outlook had brightened considerably and, as she switched off the light and descended the stairs, she wore a fixated smile.

"Feeling better?" Jean asked as she spotted her daughter.

Hermione nodded, "way better. How's dad?"

Jean sighed, "He's alright but he'll have a more difficult time coming around than you."

Sitting at the table Hermione watched as he mother prepared dinner and briefly envisioned herself doing the same. She imagined her own daughter eying her with the same speculating eyes and then marveled upon the essence of time and heritage. How strange it was to think that at one point her mother had been in her spot, wondering the same things and guessing at the future. Hermione shook her head, someday her own child, in turn, would be pondering all these things as well.

It was an endless cycle.

Life was a curious concept and Hermione knew, if she allowed her mind to do so, that she could spend weeks thinking solely on that thesis.

"I'm going to go sit outside for a bit," Hermione informed her mother as she pushed herself up from the table and towards the door.

"Alright dearest, dinner will be ready in about twenty minutes."

Nodding, Hermione stepped out into the night and breathed in the summer air. Recently, she couldn't seem to get enough of being out and about in nature. She was feeling somewhat claustrophobic in her house.

Sitting on the front steps she again found herself contemplating the image of herself cooking dinner for her family.

She had never imagined herself to fall within the domestic mom prototype but cooking was something she had always enjoyed. It was like brewing a potion.

Coming up with make-believe faces for her children was easy but she never knew what face to give the man who was to be her husband.

"I'm whoever you want me to be."

The words from her dream echoed through her mind and Hermione instantly pushed all accompanying thoughts away. It would drive her crazy to contemplate on it any further.

The sound of footsteps approaching from across the street caused her to sweep her eyes over the surrounding area.

At first she didn't see anyone but, gradually, like a mirage forming within a desert, she caught the familiar sight of a platinum head of hair.

He walked as if the entire world had slowed its pace to accommodate his leisurely stroll, and his face was relaxed, unworried and bright.

Hermione rolled her eyes before standing and walking towards him, meeting him halfway in the street.

"What are you doing out here?" she inquired.

Draco shrugged, "nothin' really. What are you up to?"

Hermione brought a hand to her forehead, where she felt her headache returning. "Draco, I really don't feel like talking with you right now, I'm not feeling very well."

Draco smirked before plastering the most convincing look of concern he could muster across his features. "Oh, sorry. Are you alright?"

Hermione could hear the underlying derision within his seemingly appropriate response.

"Don't act like you're concerned for me."

He grinned, "Alright then, I won't."

Hermione rolled her eyes, "you're so uncouth."

"Uncouth eh?" he asked with a raised brow.

Nodding, Hermione just tilted her head and allowed an innocent smile to spread across her features, "Seems the most accurate word to describe you."

Draco shook his head, "I disagree."

"Oh?"

"As a matter of fact," he defended, "I am always courteous."

Hermione snickered, "really? Please enlighten me."

"Well, for one, I escorted you home the other night and, secondly, I always make sure to conduct myself in a gentlemanly manner."

Hermione shook her head, "whatever you say, Draco."

They were silent for several moments before a light breeze swept past Hermione and surrounded Draco. He inhaled before catching her eye and smiling slightly.

"Are you wearing jasmine?"

Hermione blinked and felt at once uncomfortable by his comment. "Oh, uhm, yeah, it's one of my favorites."

He nodded, "ah, well you actually smell nice."

Hermione shook her head at his choice of words. "What? Did you expect me to smell bad?"

He shrugged, "I don't know. I never really wondered."

She bit her lip before looking away and down the street.

"I thought you didn't feel like talking to me?" he suddenly asked.

Looking back to him she nodded, "I don't."

"Yet here you are."

Hermione rolled her eyes and sighed before abruptly turning and walking away from him.

Draco laughed before following her onto her porch, where she sat.

"You're trespassing you know." She informed him.

Shrugging, Draco leaned against the railing, "So?"

Hermione just waved it off before resuming her pointed stare down the street. "So what is it you really want?"

He seemed to carefully contemplate her question before muttering a response. "I came to ask what your comment in the café was about."

"Oh Merlin! Draco!" Hermione's eyes widened as she turned her gaze to see a wide grin across his face. "You're such a persistent little prat."

"You'll tell me one day," he replied confidently.

"Don't count on it."

"I count on everything."

Hermione pondered his statement before furrowing her brows. "What does that mean?"

Draco shrugged, "don't know. I just wanted to say it."

"Uhuh," Hermione replied before shaking her head.

After a few moments she again rested her forehead within her palm.

Several minutes of silence passed between them before Draco finally made up his mind to offer her an honest explanation as to his presence on her street.

"I'm just really bored is all."

Hermione looked up as he continued.

"You're the only one around to talk to."

An immediate feeling of empathy swept through her as she observed him, and she had to admit she felt rather bad for her rude comment about not wanting to speak with him.

She smiled softly and he offered a small smirk in response.

"Okay, Draco," she replied, "we can talk."